Chimera
by Mezza9
Summary: A deadly disease is ravaging both man and god. A woman who owes a debt to SHIELD is brought in to help, but with time running out and more victims being claimed by the hour, one steeped in darkness will be required in order to find the cure. The key lies within an oft-asked question; Who are you?
1. Chapter 0

**Author Note: **So, hi there. Thanks for taking the time to drop by and read my little story. The idea was rolling around in the empty hollow I call a skull for a while and wouldn't leave me alone. Add in a combination of Loki talk with a friend, a weekend movie marathon which included Thor, The Avengers, and Contagion of all things, and I simply couldn't let the tale go unwritten. Hope you enjoy.

A word of warning: This story follows events **after **The Avengers and so will not interfere much with canon events. This first chapter is a little weird since it switches p.o.v. a lot to show the setup, but it won't skip around so much in future chapters. Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter 0: Before Patient Zero**

—_With Natasha—_

What was the obsession with bombs? Honestly. Natasha supposed that, in a way, bombs appealed to a sort of childish side of humanity, the little boy in everyone who liked to see towers of building blocks fall down in a heap. The only difference was that the tower this time was made of glass, metal, and specially designed reactor parts.

She didn't feel all that surprised when she learned of the bomb's intended target (the largest display of ego she'd ever seen, Stark Tower), and if pressed would confess to a total lack of knowledge as to who exactly had order construction of the explosive. A maniac was a maniac, whether he was short or tall, or spoke Russian or French, or was bald or wore a hat with little bells on it. And every maniac had the exact same gimmicks, especially when it came to breaking into their hideaways. There would always be poorly trained guards, locked vaults, lasers, and hidden hallways. Honestly, Natasha was getting bored of bomb missions. Thus, once the plans had been interrupted, the transport of the bomb intercepted, and a few good SHIELD agents dispatched to the scene for cleanup, it came as a relief to get a phonecall.

"Agent," the familiar voice of Nick Fury greeted her ears. "I take it your mission was a success?"

"You're making it too easy for me, sir. I expected more challenge than this."

"How about a new mission then?" Fury offered.

"That depends, sir. What kind of mission is it?"

_'Please don't say bomb squad.'_ her mind screamed.

"It has nothing to do with explosives or breaking into hideouts, I can tell you that much. It's a very important mission, agent Romanoff. I'm calling everyone in for this one."

Oh. A mandatory mission. Those were always the good ones.

"When should I report in?"

* * *

_—With Steve—_

Steve Rogers had seen riots of such a scale several times before, but he hadn't been right in the midst of them. Those times, the crowds had been controlled by the police force and dispersed within the hour. This time, the crowds would not push back, the streets having been flooded with almost every single able body in Manhattan. Those not afflicted with the mob mentality stayed smartly in their homes, but the numbers still overwhelmed.

Always the first resort in cases such as these, SHIELD had thought seeing Captain America would calm the populace. No such luck, as the cause of the riots was not a thing cured by hope. In fact, it was debatable if the cause of the riots had a cure at all. He'd heard of the new, deadly disease ravaging the city, but had never dreamed it could have such madness as a symptom. The desperation people turned to in order to protect themselves reminded him almost of the desperation people turned to in a war. There, men and women would slaughter one another over a bundle of rations.

It was much the same now. Those afflicted with the virus took to the streets in protest, lining up outside of healthcare centers and the CDC, demanding treatment that wasn't to come. Those not infected took extreme measures for protection, stocking food and water and guns for holing up. A few even more extreme cases, those doomsday enthusiasts present in all major cities, took a more ludicrous standpoint and started raiding everything they could get their hands on.

That was why he was there. Steve only hoped that elusive cure could be found soon. It made him sick to have to subdue citizens in order to save them. If nothing was done quickly enough, they'd destroy themselves.

That was a fact of human nature.

* * *

_—With Bruce—_

The second he heard about the outbreak in Manhattan, Bruce wanted to take an overnight red-eye to go and offer his aid. He knew all about how far-reaching the effects of disease could be. Unfortunately, he was already engaged in a battle of his own. As it was, he was looking to be stuck in the heart of Romania for at least another three weeks. Illness was not a force limited to the United States. He would remain where was, treating the victims of a SARS outbreak. Granted, with his limited equipment (a lot of the heavy-hitting gear had been ah...broken in an incident that he would rather not think about), the battle was much tougher. But his duty was to the victims. Once that duty was complete, though, he'd be on his way to SHIELD's embrace quicker than a soldier home from war. He was certain they had to be working on something already, and so he shouldn't feel so worried. A nagging voice in his head disagreed, telling him that it was hopeless without his aid.

The "other guy," however, seemed to get a kick out of all the chaos. Bruce had felt an odd thrill upon seeing the reports on the riots. Initially writing if off as scientific interest, he later came to understand that it was the Hulk's penchant for destruction which made him feel that thrill.

Partaking of that thrill, scientific interest or otherwise, was not to be his. With regret, he shut out everything he'd heard and focused on the task at hand.

* * *

_—With Tony—_  
Pepper was not going to be happy with him. Even if the hole in the roof wasn't _technically_ his doing directly (it was a flying hunk of metal, the mask for his new suit, that had done the deed), he somehow doubted she was going to be thrilled at the prospect of even more work on the tower.

That was the tale of how Tony Stark, genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist, became a fugitive in his own home. Hidden out in one of the tower's many bathrooms, he was relatively safe from Pepper's wrath. She really should be used to random explosions by then anyway, in Tony's opinion.

"Sir," JARVIS' voice sounded over the intercom, disruption his musing. "You have an incoming call from an Agent Barton of SHIELD."

"What, again? Can't they do anything without me?" Tony sighed. "Put him through."

Tony pulled out his phone, the thing holographic screen displaying the face of Clint Barton.

"Stark," he said. "Guess who gets to go on a field trip?"

"Are we going to the dinosaur exhibit at the museum, daddy? Can I go see the T-Rex?"

"No," Clint made a noise that cleverly disguised his chuckle. "But you do get to help with a T-Rex sized problem. Fury wants everyone in as soon as possible."

"Did the Tribbles escape again?"

"What?"

"Nevermind, agent. I'll be there in..." Tony paused as he thought he heard footsteps outside of the bathroom. Caught already? "I'll be there yesterday."

He didn't even flinch when the door opened to reveal an annoyed Pepper. She saw the phone in his hand and rolled her eyes.

"Tony, we've talked about this."

"I know, and I'm sorry. You can bill me later, but right now duty calls."

"Sorry, ma'am," Pepper heard Barton say. "It's important."

"A T-Rex sized problem," Tony agreed.

"Did he even tell you what the mission was this time?" Pepper challenged.

Silence. Tony tried the puppy-eye-tactic.

"Go," Pepper laughed. "Go, so I can punish you when you get back"

Tony didn't need telling twice, making his way to his bedroom in order to prepare. He looked to the phone's screen, where Clint waited patiently for him to say something else.

"When do you need me?"

"We meet at 1800 hours tomorrow. We'll go over the details then."

"Mmhm. And Fury's called in the whole team this time?"

"All but one. I just have one more phone call to make," Barton said.

"Good," came a voice. As Tony watched, Nick Fury walked into view and stopped next to Barton. "The sooner everyone is assembled, the sooner we can get this mission underway. Who do you have left to call?"

"Only Locke, sir."

"But of course," Fury looked annoyed, as if the name belonged to someone he owed money. "Locke. I can't tell who'll be more of a headache during this mission, that one...or Stark."

"I'm still here," Tony said.

"My money would have to be on Stark," Barton said.

"Yep, still here. Still listening to this conversation," Tony repeated, louder.

"Oh? And just how much money are we talking about, agent?"

"Fifty bucks?"

Fury laughed. "Alright. Fifty bucks. We'll see at the end of it all. Agent Barton, make your phone call."

The connection was cut off after that, leaving Tony staring indignantly at a blank screen. Not being accustomed to being ignored, he had to admit that he felt a tad bit disturbed by it.

* * *

_—With Locke—_

Infomercials; bane of late-night television, plague of insomniacs...and entirely too enthralling. Two hours into an early-morning marathon of the things, and one Portland resident was fully convinced that yes, her knives _did_ suck, and that this Wonderchop 200X was right for her. She'd been ready to pick up the phone to call within the next twenty minutes for the bonus Wonderblend 200X Mini, when the program switched to a news report. While the man on screen had apologized for the interruption, she switched it off before the report could even begin. She knew exactly what would be broadcasting.

Panic in the streets! Looting, hoarding, crowd violence, jam-packed airports, and lost dogs. The number of simultaneous cases of stupidity was enough to make one think "hey, some kinda shit's going down."

Indeed, shit _was_ going down. "Shit" that reminded her uncomfortably of several disaster movies she'd seen (Contagion had been a favorite for how realistic its portrayal of humanity when faced with desperation was).

It wasn't so much the content of the news reports that made her turn them off when they came on. Rather, she dreaded what would inevitably follow such a full-scale viral outbreak, and what it meant for her. Considering who she was and who she worked for, once the bosses got wind of the new slew of breaking reports, it was bound to become her personal business.

Her name was Katherine Locke, and though she lived in Portland, a whole world away from Manhattan, she knew exactly what was going on.

She'd get a phone call soon, she knew. Following that would be some grovelling and whining, and her time off would be cut despairingly short.

She switched the television back on in time for the report to end, and it was back to the Wonderchop 200X. It was then that the phonecall began, and though she'd been expecting it, Locke jumped when the phone started ringing.

She got up and crossed the room to retrieve it, from the charger, her anklebone cracking against her nightstand as she went. She held the phone up to the side of her head and answered.

"Shit!"

"Hello to you too, miss Locke."

She recognized that voice. Vaguely. He was one of the bigwigs, one of Fury's top dogs. He was one of those so-called Avengers. He was her favorite target. He was Clint Barton, known otherwise as Hawkeye.

"Agent," she bit her lip to keep any more curses from spilling forth and sat on the edge of her bed to nurse the offending ankle. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"A mission," the man answered. "We've already sent someone to pick you up."

"...can't I pass?" Locke protested.

"Fury said you'd say that. He also said to remind you of the little anklet you're wearing."

The woman felt the cool metal under her fingers, on the same ankle she'd just hurt. The thin silver band she wore could almost be considered stylish if it didn't serve the nastier purpose of tracking her every move. She tugged on it a bit with a frown.

"Makes it hard to find cute boots that fit," she answered.

"Then come barefoot. Fury wants you in as soon as possible."

"Is this about the news?" she asked quickly. "Uh, you know, the riots...not the whole cats-who-play-the-clarinet segment."

"Yes, Locke. Why else would I be talking to you?"

She had seen Barton in person on a few occasions, mostly brief encounters which always ended with him wanting to strangle her. The reason for that was because she reminded him painfully of Stark at times, and she loved getting a rise out of the normally collected agent. He knew some smart comment was coming as soon as Locke let three seconds pass without remark.

"For my sexy voice? I always knew you had a thing for me, agent. What would miss Romanoff say about that?"

Yeah, if that _thing_ happened to be an intense desire to string her from a ceiling fan and let her dangle.

"Katherine," Barton warned.

"Alright, alright. Geez, no need to use the _K_ word. I'll be ready in an hour."

"Better make it twenty minutes."

Locke sighed and hung up, fingernails tapping out a rhythm on her ankle monitor. She knew how dangerous the virus was, of course. It was actually much worse than the news showed it to be, if SHIELD's preliminary investigation was anything to go by. The virus was only beginning to spread, but the damage was already reaching the same scale as the Manhattan disaster two years prior. And that mess was _still_ being cleaned up.

She'd be clocking in a lot of overtime, she could already tell.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hello everyone! Thanks to those who've added this story to their alerts! It means a lot to me, and I hope you're enjoying it so far. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

—**-^-—**

**Chapter 1: The Mission **

—**-^-—**

Steve was about to go postal. Pun not intended, but he was on his last bit of normally extensive patience, literally a hair away from 'stark'-raving mad. And naturally, the source of his madness was none other _than_ Stark who, ever faithful to his nature, wouldn't shut up.

They'd been waiting a long time to be briefed on a new mission. A much longer time than Fury normally ever tolerated. He'd told the team to assemble and wait in one of the conference rooms until his arrival, which normally wouldn't be that long. He'd said that it was an urgent matter, so where was he?

"Really, they should at least think about a few knickknacks. How is anyone supposed to keep from dying of boredom in this room?"

Steve winced as Tony sprayed crumbs from some kind of snack food all over the place, waving his hands as he complained about the décor for the millionth time. What the food was, or where it had come from, were questions that Steve was actually (unfortunately) tempted to ask. Sure, he'd honestly prefer if the man would just can it, but maybe asking him would redirect his thoughts and stop the incessant _whining_ for a few seconds. He gave it a whirl.

"I'm afraid of the answer but I'll ask anyway. What in the world is that?"

"Chocolate chip muffin," Stark answered, still chomping on a huge mouthful. "There were about twenty of them sitting on a tray in Agent Hill's office."

Steve thought that was the whine-stop he had wanted, but two seconds later, Stark was at it again.

"Even just a checker board would be better than sitting here counting the hairs on my knuckles. I have Twenty-five, if anyone was curious."

Natasha and Clint were both starting to look murderous. Steve thought he was going to have to step in to prevent World War III, when the door opened and someone came into the room.

"You're just in time," a voice interrupted. It was none other than the man himself, director Nick Fury. Steve stepped out of the way to admit the man, who as always had freakishly perfect timing.

"Now that we're all here, we can get down to business. Have a seat."

Tony shot Fury a look that said "how do you do that?" before reluctantly pulling out a chair next to Steve. All eyes were now on Fury.

"Nice of you to join us," Tony quipped.

"I had urgent matters to attend to," the other man answered. "Matters pertaining to the new mission."

That shut Tony up, if only temporarily.

"Now, as you may know, we've recently been dealing with a particular strand of virus. You may have heard of the outbreak in Manhattan."

Tony raised his hand, and Fury rolled his eyes. Considering that Stark _lived_ in Manhattan, he really hoped there wasn't some smart-ass remark coming.

"What is it, Stark?" he snapped.

"Would this be the same virus that causes an unusually high fever, bleeding from the pores, and more often than not, drowning?"

The director raised a brow, unimpressed. Tony had probably just Googled that. It was not like Tony to pay attention to things like that. Then again, it _had_ been all over the damn news.

"The very same," he answered.

"Wait, _drowning?_" Steve asked.

Fury looked about ready to blow a gasket. All of these interruptions were grating on his last nerve. He turned to agent Hill, who seemed to have manifested herself out of nowhere.

"You explain it."

The woman nodded and stood up.

"The 'Drowning Fever' as it's being called, began spreading about three weeks ago. It's unclear where the virus originated from, as SHIELD has only procured a few usable samples. The initial outbreak was centered in Manhattan, with numbers already up to twenty infected cases after a mere three days. No one can locate patient zero for testing, so thus far most of the information about the outbreak is limited to witness accounts. Symptoms begin with flu-like fever and discharge from the eyes, then become more serious, with victims' bodies expelling blood from the pores, as well as overheating and bodily tremors," She paused, looking around the room like an expectant vulture. "By the way...who was in my office?"

Tony looked away guiltily, quickly stuffing the last of the muffin into his mouth.

"Have we figured anything out?" Steve asked, saving Tony from Agent Hill's wrath. "Anything at all?"

"Oh, just that no treatment has been totally successful thus far, and the virus continues to spread."

The group looked up to see another woman joining them. Accompanied by two SHIELD agents, she looked like someone either very important or very high on the watch list. A thin silver band with three blue lights settled on one ankle indicated the latter. She was a peculiar sight, clad in a black dress under a white lab coat. Her hair, cut into a bob, matched the color of her fingernails (a vibrant banana-peel yellow), and she was barefoot. Barton narrowed his eyes a bit at that one. He hadn't actually been serious.

"So why is it called the Drowning Fever?" Steve asked, the only one oblivious to her presence. At the same time, Tony had a question too.

"And who might you be?"

"She's..." Barton began, only to be cut off by the woman.

"Katherine Locke. And they call it that because victims tend to either drink a hell of a lot of water, or jump into it in order to cool their bodies in the overheating stage. You can imagine how well that usually goes. It's like trying to get sober by drowning yourself in coffee. Or eating a lot of Andes mints."

"Katherine," Tony said slowly, as if testing the name. She looked at him expectantly, expecting him to have some sort of valuable input, but it became clear that he didn't. She decided to ignore him, which turned out to be a not-good idea. "Nah, I think I like Mellow Yellow better..."

"For the love of god, just call me Locke," she cut him off.

"Which one?" the man pressed.

"What?"

"For the love of which god?"

Locke slapped a palm to her forehead, dreading the ensuing headache the was sure to assault her after the meeting. No doubt SHIELD single-handedly kept the pharmaceutical companies in business. _This_ was Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and face behind Iron Man?

"Xa'ligha," she answered with a toss of her head. "But I've been wondering this for a while. What exactly does the virus have to do with the Avengers?"

Fury looked relieved that the conversation had been steered back on topic.

"We have a new case of the infection," he said. "A case that shouldn't exist."

"And why is that?" Clint asked.

The director stood and activated a screen in the middle of the table. Dread fell upon the group then, because when he did that, it usually meant that whatever the mission, they wouldn't be able to refuse. The dread only deepened when the screen displayed its image. All at one, the neutral expressions on their faces changed to rage-filled ones.

"Because it concerns Asgard."

There on the crisp holographic screen was frozen an image of a smiling, familiar face.

The god of mischief, Loki.

Locke looked from Avenger to Avenger, then allowed her gaze to fall on the image of Loki. She knew who he was, of course, and what he had done. You'd have to be stupid not to. But she was under the impression that they had thoroughly washed their hands of him.

"Uh, what does he have to do with this?" she asked.

Fury flipped off the screen, mercifully removing the grinning visage from the room.

"Two days ago, Thor arrived here via use of the Tessarect with Loki in tow, begging SHIELD to do something to help his 'ailing brother.' He described an illness with symptoms similar to the Drowning Fever, saying that nothing they had tried worked to cure it."

"Wait...so Loki is here?" Natasha said. "Nearby? Already?"

"And you want us to...what? Tuck Loki in? Make him chicken noodle soup and read him bedtime stories?" Stark asked.

"What I'm expecting," Fury snapped. "is for you to offer miss Locke your full support while she finds the source of the viral attack. If the similarities between the strain here and the strain infecting Loki are enough, you can find the cure faster. I won't have a repeat of the events in Manhattan, you understand?"

"Oh, no. That much is clear. What I want to know is, why should we help Loki?"

"He is fond of tricks and deception. There's a good chance he could have something to do with it."

Tony let out a long whistle, but said nothing else, throwing his hands up in surrender. Locke, however, had some more words for him.

"Uh...me?" she pointed at herself. "You want _me_ to find the cure for this...bug?"

"I think you know better than anyone that it's much more than that, but that's correct."

"And you want me to use a figure from Norse mythology to do so? One who, if you remember, caused the city of Manhattan to almost blow up two years ago, killed your most trusted agent, and broke part of the helicarrier?"

"We believe Loki holds the key, yes."

"Okay, fair enough," Locke looked on the verge of hyperventilating. "So, why me? Wouldn't Bruce Banner be a better choice for this...project?"

There seemed to be quite a bit of agreement on that front, a few nods and some noncommittal whispering following the question. Locke supposed she ought to be offended, but she gave credit where credit was due. Dangerous the man might be, but from what she'd seen of his work, he was just as brilliant.

"Doctor Banner is already hard at work fighting another disease in Romania. We've already contacted him with the details and an offer, but until he completes his work, we have no guarantee that he can join on this project. It goes without saying that you yourself have certain obligations as part of your lasting agreement with SHIELD and given your...history." Here, Fury let his gaze settle on the silvery ankle monitor clearly visible on her left leg. "So you're it, miss Locke."

"...great," she muttered. So she was their second choice. Still, being second choice after a mind like Bruce Banner wasn't bad. And being a second choice to a mind like that while leashed was an added bonus. They could have picked any other researcher, and they chose her. She supposed she should feel flattered.

"So we're expected to babysit this girl while she pokes and prods at an...Asgardian Asshat in the vague hope of curing this disease?" Natasha had stood from her place and now spoke with an edge of irritation to her voice.

"Agent Romanoff, what I expect is for you to protect miss Locke and keep a close watch on our...other guest. If Loki is indeed planning another catastrophe, he'll likely start here, in a place where he has access to a lot of weaponry and technology. However, it is also easiest to keep an eye on him here. This is not a request, but an order."

Natasha visibly fumed, but sat back down.

"Now then, if we're all finished complaining, let's get this mission underway."

"But sir," Clint spoke this time. "As Locke pointed out, the last time Loki was here on Earth, he nearly destroyed the carrier, caused chaos in Germany, brainwashed several of your own agents, and nearly leveled an entire city. How are we supposed to keep him under control?"

"Thor will be arriving here soon. He'll be here for the duration of this mission to help keep him in check. Other preventative measures are being taken as we speak."

They let the information sink in, the image of the boisterous god of Thunder playing about in their heads. He himself wasn't bad, but with both brother present, there was bound to be some conflict. Hopefully none of that conflict would be of the expensive variety.

"Just saying this, 'Chaos in Germany' would make an excellent name for a rock band," Stark interjected.

"Huh, you know, it really would," agreed Locke.

Fury sighed and massaged his temples. This would be one very long mission.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Well, this story has no reviews yet, but I've noticed quite a number of new followers in the last few days. Hello to all of you! Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and let us move into the plot more in this chapter.

* * *

—**-^-—**

**Chapter 2: The God  **

—**-^-—**

The dismissal after the briefing felt like something akin to a death sentence. Locke (accompanied by a silent, dark-haired SHIELD escort) led the way to the lab to begin preparations for Loki's arrival. But really, when talking about a man who got off on chaos and destruction, what kind of preparations could you possibly make?A gaming room? Art activities? A psychiatrist's chair?

Inventory of her supplies would do, she supposed. If this project was going to be something long-term, she'd prefer to have some semblance of control over the situation.

She remembered, two years prior, the last time the Asgardians Thor and Loki had been on the carrier. That had been the first time she heard of the Avengers. It was in the midst of flu season above the ground, with a dozen or so of SHIELD's finest coming down with crippling fevers. She'd been on her way to run some tests on a tray of blood samples when, in utter confusion at the presence of two of the world's most famously brilliant minds, she'd dropped the tray and promptly excused herself. Later, after some explanation by Fury, she'd learned what it was they were doing there, and had been kindly informed that her lab was temporarily on loan.

That was all two years ago, and she'd only said one word to them (sorry). She had no idea at the time that they were to become part of something greater, only two parts of the much larger "Avengers Initiative" as Fury had called it. As for anything to do with the two gods, that had been limited to word-of-mouth. While she'd been on the carrier and knew the gist of what was going on, her most vivid memory was of the Hulk wreaking havoc. So while the carrier was falling out of the sky, she was in the lab praying to whatever god would listen, hoping her death would be a quick one. Everyone else had scrambled out of the room, including her agent-bodyguard-observer, leaving her to die alone.

A reverberating crash of thunder interrupted her thoughts. Flinching, she stood up ramrod straight and whipped around to face the door. Stark laughed loudly at her expression as the nameless agent watched with unblinking steadiness.

"Little jumpy there, Old Yeller?"

"I didn't know we were expecting a thunderstorm."

"Heh, she doesn't know," Stark laughed again. "Hey guys, she doesn't know."

"Leave her alone, Stark," Steve chastised.

"I'm just saying."

"Well, shut it, will you?" Locke snapped. "I mean, seriously. _Do_ you shut up, even when you're sleeping?"

"I'm not sure," Tony answered honestly.

Further lines of discussion died, as the door slid open to reveal a man speaking with Fury. The man had long golden hair, and was clad in glimmering chain mail and armor. The thunder had subsided, leaving only a sort of electrical buzz in the air. The metallic dude had a booming voice to match the thunder from before.

"I must thank you, Nick Fury, for allowing me to bring my brother here for treatment."

"It's in our best interests as well, Thor. Treating Loki may well help us find the key to curing the disease down here on earth as well."

"And how will we work to accomplish this?" Thor asked.

"That would be where I come in," Locke spoke up as they neared. She held out a hand for him to shake. "'Lo there. Locke's the name, virology's the game."

Thor seemed confused by her words, but took her hand anyway. However, instead of shaking it, he elected to press his lips to the back of it.

"Miss Locke. It's an honor to meet you. I thank you for being willing to accommodate us while you treat my brother's illness."

"Um...it's no trouble, I think?" she shook her head, having almost said 'I hope" instead. Discreetly, she wiped the back of her hand against her lab coat. "At any rate, can you tell me a bit about his symptoms?"

"It was Heimdall who noticed something amiss with Loki," Thor answered.

"Who?"

"The gatekeeper of Asgard. We were transferring Loki to a new prison in order to fulfill his sentence when he took note of my brother's illness."

"So what exactly has he been like?" Stark interjected.

Thor looked from the man of iron to Fury, then finally to the door. He looked decidedly uncomfortable to be there, something more than just a feeling of being out of place.

"You'll see for yourself," Fury said. "Bring him in."

Two shield agents, the very same ones who'd escorted Locke into the meeting with Fury, entered the room flanking a third, who wheeled a sort of upright cart with a man strapped to it. Thor looked to the man, and for the first time, Locke saw the god of mischief in person. She'd seen pictures of him, of the one who had led an assault against one of the largest cities in the U.S in a desperate bid for conquest, but she'd not seen him in person. The pictures did no justice to the look of sheer hate in his eyes as he observed everyone near.

He was bound in thin, metallic bands that looked to be made of some sort of ribbon. Locke doubted their integrity. His speech was prevented by the silver mask over his mouth and chin. At first glance, he seemed strikingly regal, yet full of cold loathing and disdain. He was obviously tall, even strapped to the cart as he was. His form was rigid, held upright. His hair was black and feathery, like a crow's wing, falling in feverish disarray to his shoulders. His gaze was sharp, the green eyes never still as they scanned the room and its occupants. She suppressed a shiver as that gaze swept over her in disinterest before moving on to another target.

This was a proud man, one driven by ego and power. He was not one easily broken. But as Locke continued to stare at the bound god, she saw other things. The sweat beaded on his wax-white skin, for instance. Or the glazed and dilated green eyes. Or the minute, barely-noticeable tremors that shook his form. Though she intended to ask once more about the symptoms, the words to leave her mouth were vastly different.

"What's with the Hannibal Lector getup?" she blurted out.

"Nice analogy," Stark piped up. "Though not necessarily an accurate one."

"You drag this guy in here in chains and...is that a muzzle? What kind of analogy did you expect me to make?"

Steve looked quizzically at Tony, who knew right away what he was going to ask.

"Who's Hannibal Lector?"

Tony groaned, massaging his temples lightly before dropping a hand to the other man's right shoulder.  
"Cap," he said. "I do believe you have a few decades' worth of movies to catch up on. come on, let's go."

"But the mission—"

"I think Thor and Mellow Yellow can handle things just fine. Besides, Robin Hood and Red are here. It'll be fine, come on."

The billionaire wasted no time in dragging the hapless soldier out of the room to places unknown, leaving Locke with Thor and the other Avengers. She stared at the door.  
"...anyone else think I should violently murder him?"

Immediately, Clint and Natasha raised their hands. Thor looked slightly appalled, while Loki shot her a look over his bindings that might have been amusement. Fury sighed for the millionth time.

"I'll go give them the rest of the briefing. I'll leave things here under your control, agents."

And with that, he too left the room to chase down the man-child and the soldier.

"Well, I doubt he'd have been much help anyway," Locke dismissed. "So let me guess about those symptoms, eh? Feverish? Unusually high temperature and a sensation of feeling too hot or too cold? Extreme dehydration through sweating or vomiting and diarrhea, and pain in the extremities?"

Thor looked impressed.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"That just sounds like a bad flu," Hawkeye pointed out.

"Exactly. I just described the symptoms of influenza, which nearly everyone has had at some point in their lives. But here's the ticket; have you and your people tried any treatments?" Locke asked of Thor.

"Yes. No treatment, magical or otherwise, has changed his condition. Even the healing goddess Eir has been unable to offer a remedy for this plague," Thor answered.

"Plague?" Natasha asked. "I thought Loki was the only one sick?"

"He was only the first of many. Other Asgardians have become afflicted, including all but one of the Warriors Three."

"And there we go," Locke said. "If it was only the flu, I doubt a god or immortal would have contracted it in the first place. Something like this is much more serious. One last question, and I'd actually like to hear the answer from Loki himself."

The others in the room looked at her as if she was asking them to throw a grenade onto a school bus. The god of Thunder shifted uncomfortably, and Locke felt his brother's gaze flicker and lock onto her. She met his stare, seeming calm and collected but squirming on the inside. It was a dare, to guess at his motives, and to see just what there was to fear from this man besides his unnerving stare.

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Thor said at last.

"Why? You can just take that thing off and let him speak. It's not like it's rocket science."

"Aye, I could, but the Allfather has bound Loki's speech even further."

"Meaning what? Gave him laryngitis too?"

Thor deftly moved behind his brother, undoing the silver mask and allowing it to fall to the floor with a clatter. Behind it, across Loki's lips in shining black thread, neat, fine stitches held the god's lips closed. Locke felt her eyes widen at the sight.

"His speech has been bound by the dwarven brothers Brokkr and Sindri, by order of the Allfather. It was so that he may spout no more lies," Thor explained.

Locke sighed and retrieved a scalpel from a tray near the stored petri dishes. Her agent babysitter moved to prevent her from moving, her wrist finding its way into his grasp. The others had moved as well, standing between her and the captive trickster.

"You're going to allow this murderer to spout off excuses?" Natasha asked acidly.

"You must not. The thread should not be removed," Thor said.

Locke seemed less than impressed.

"I'm aware of what he's done and what he could do. This is for the sake of accuracy, to match his account to yours. How can I diagnose if I can't clarify what it is I'm dealing with?" she drawled. She then looked to her chaperone, who was fully prepared to take her down with force. "And really, agent, do you think I'd be jumping to violate my precious probation?"

The agent backed off, and the gathered Avengers exchanged looks. They reluctantly stepped aside. Locke took the god's chin in her left hand, ignoring the scathing, unblinking stare that chilled her to the core. She carefully drew the blade across the row of stitches. She did not bother removing the threads, fearing that Loki might find it fit to bite off a finger in retaliation for touching him.

"Now tell me," she said, drawing away form his still-bound form. "how do you feel?"

Loki's lips slowly spread into a wide, sinister smirk. The shadows playing on his face, coupled with the dark remnants of the stitches, only added to the effect. He drew his tongue across them, moistening the cracked skin before speaking.

"I feel that I will enjoy making your race suffer," he said. "I will watch with relish as you tear yourselves apart. I will find the member of your pathetic species responsible for this despicable weakness, and when I do, I shall watch as he is torn limb from limb before feeding him to his own children."

His first words in weeks came out in a hiss, carrying every ounce of venom and hatred he possessed for being made to appear so weak, and in front of humans, no less. He had chosen those particular words to test her reaction, to see how she would tremble before him.

"That's nice," Locke said, raising a brow. Her tone of voice didn't betray how uneasy he made her. "Sounds really promising. So, have you begun to bleed from you pores yet?"

* * *

If looks could kill, every single person in the room would be dead ten times over.

Loki struggled in vain against his bonds, the ribbon-like metal cutting into his flesh the more he moved. The second he could manage to escape, he would bind every one of the insipid fools with those very ribbons before making them pleasant souvenirs of their own entrails. Loki intensified his glare upon the yellow-haired woman who had dared to jest at him. Her words had been infused with confidence, but he'd seen the truth. He'd seen in her the same fear that had been etched into every mortal he'd ever had contact with. Good. She _should_ fear him, and so she instinctively did, even if she denied it with words.

"I bleed for none, mortal," he had answered in response to her query.

"Oh, really?" she shot back. "Then what do you call that red at your hairline? Leakage?"

He twisted and turned in his bondage, unable to move to wipe away the offending substance. The insolent woman took care of it for him, even having the audacity to show him the cloth smeared with his own life's essence before throwing it into the waste bin.

"That may be a bio-hazard," she said. "but whatever."

She turned back to the god of mischief with an almost cheeky grin, flashing teeth and all.

"Congratulations. You have the Drowning Fever. And as of now, you're my guinea pig."

To this, Loki laughed, a low derisive chuckle that twisted his cracked lips into a leering smile.

"You are both insolent and foolish," he told her, then directed his gaze to the rest of them. "The lot of you. You think to keep me bound while prodding at my flesh like insignificant mosquitoes. To what end? I will release myself from this flimsy prison before you know it. When that time comes, you will know true pain."

"You are bound by the chains of Gleipnir," Thor pointed out. "These were meant to bind the wolf of destruction, Fenris himself. The more you struggle against them, the tighter they draw. The Allfather has given me wards against your lies and trickery, and Nick Fury has placed guards at every possible entrance. Do you still think to escape, brother?"

"...sounds kinky," Locke scoffed, leaning closer to look at the chains. "Let's pretend I know what you're talking about to avoid any unnecessary questions. Now, if we're done throwing around idle threats, I'd like to draw some blood."

She picked up a hypodermic syringe and a sealed alcohol pad, approaching the god of lies in order to collect her sample. As she drew closer, close enough to hear his raspy breaths, Loki's eyes fell on her, and he grinned. The black thread pieces framed his mouth, giving him a second twisted smile. The cold, unblinking stare coupled with that grin made for a nightmarish visage that Locke was eager to wipe from her memories. The look on his face said it all clearly; his was not an idle threat.

It was a promise.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hello again, dear readers! It's good to be posting a new chapter finally. I have a good seven or so of them written in a notebook, I've just been extremely busy and haven't felt much like typing... But! I finally got off my rear, or rather, onto it, and typed this one up for you. And a huge thanks to my first reviewer, Sail_Away64, and to all you new followers. There seem to be quite a few of you, so thanks for taking the time to read my little tale! Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

—**-^-—**

**Chapter 3: The Prognosis **

—**-^-—**

He did not flinch when the needle went into his arm, filling the syringe with rich, dark blood. But his eyes remained trained on her, and though she didn't care to admit it, a chill crept slowly up her spine. Once the needle was out of his flesh, she moved away form his as quickly as the space in the room would allow. A small box of blank microscope slides sat on the worktable. She took one up, placed the syringe down, and began to prepare the glass rectangle while trying to calm her nerves. As if awakening from a trance, she froze and turned to the team of Avengers. To her surprise, Stark and Rogers were back, no doubt having been dragged back by Fury's orders.

"That's it for now," she said, her voice not betraying her unease. "No glitz and glamor here. This will take some time, so why not go back and play some ping-pong or something?"

"You heard the lady," Stark said, eager to leave the stifling sterility of the room in favor of leisure. "Who's up for a round of Call of Duty?"

"What's that?"Steve asked, unknowing.

"War game. I think you'll get a kick out of it. Later, you lot."

He skipped off again without a care, and then there were four. Locke looked to the others, curious what they'd decide to do next.

"I, for one, could use some rest," said Natasha. "Fury's order caught me right at the end of another mission. I haven't even had a shower yet."

"I'll join you," Clint said.

Locke, never one to miss an opportunity, immediately leaped at the chance to annoy the man.

"Gonna get a 'birds-eye view' of the action?" she quipped.

"Separately," Clint clarified hastily. R and R. It's a good idea."

He hurried away, not even dignifying Locke with a response or insult. That left only the virologist and her silent escort, as well as the two gods. Locke stifled a laugh at the two agents' backs.

"They aren't fooling anyone," she said.

"Natasha and Clint are both warriors of great integrity and nobility. If it's trickery you worry about, the culprit lies before you," Thor said, seeming confused. Now Locke did laugh.

"Except for you, apparently. So what do you plan to do?"

"The journey was unexpectedly tiring. I shall retreat to the quarters arranged for my stay."

"And Loki? What of you?"

Loki opened his mouth, likely to loose another volley of threats, but Thor spoke in his place.

"It troubles you, having him here. I will remove him from your presence and take him to the chamber assigned for him while he is in the custody of SHIELD."

A prison cell, in other words.

"Well, that's all fine and good, but I was thinking maybe he should stay here," Locke said.

"Isn't that a bit of a...well, foolish idea?" Thor asked.

"I'll just stick that mask back on him. His wheedling remarks won't get to me. And you said these bindings were unbreakable, right?"

"Made to restrain the great destroyer, Fenris. The bonds are unbreakable, yes."

"So, Fenris as in the wolf that is to break free at doomsday and bring forth Ragnarok?"

"How is it you know of this?" Thor looked suspiciously at her. Who was this woman who knew of their prophecies?

"Uh...I read?" the woman answered, waving her hand as if dispersing cigarette smoke. "We covered all this in my high school mythology class. Though personally, I liked the Greek mythology unit more. You think you guys have problems? At least none of you ever turned into a swan and seduced women. Why so surprised?"

"Fenris has yet to be born. It is said that Loki will father a son that will bring about the end of all things. To prevent this, the dwarves have crafted these chains to bind the creature for all of time."

"And here I was thinking the Norse gods were badass. Accepting that they were going to be killed with dignity and valor. I have to say, it's a bit disappointing to see the real things. And it's harsh, don't you think, to condemn someone before they're even born?" Locke shook her head. She didn't seem at all bothered at how insulting her words had been. She shouldn't be surprised, really. It was not as if she had any expectation of what god should be like. No one ever said myths were true.

"But anyway, there's no need to worry. There's that guy over there." Locke gestured to the SHIELD agent who still hadn't left the doorway. "If anything goes on in here, he'll be on it like white on rice."

"If you are certain...but why do you wish him to remain?"

"I'll need to run some more tests, to compare his illness to the one we've been having. Since he's well...not human, I want to see if there are massive differences that might hinder progress with a cure."

Thor looked to the woman, then to his brother. She didn't _seem_ to be lying, but humans were strange, deceptive creatures. And so very...tiny. As if she could read his thoughts, Locke frowned at him.

"I promise I'll be good. I won't let him out or anything, if that's what you're afraid of."

What _she_ was afraid of was the man in the Hannibal Lector getup. Honestly, she didn't feel safe at all. She was afraid to be left alone with him. Even if he was within a vault of lead, with multiple locks and chains and guarded by a militia of highly trained assassins armed with chainsaws, she'd still be afraid. There was just something about him that chilled her to the core. He sensed this, seeing her fear through the slight hitch in her voice. He fixed his gaze on her and smiled that twisted smile.

"...very well. I sense you are a woman of honest intent and strong will. If he becomes too much to bear, you may summon me at once."

Thor was oblivious to her fear. He picked up the mask and placed it on her worktable, trusting that she'd put it on his brother the second he left.

"I also ask that you find me as soon as you learn anything in regard to this illness or its origin. Until then, I bid thee well, miss Locke."

And so he left her there. Alone. With a psychopathic immortal who looked absolutely tickled by the thought of dismembering her. She cleared her throat nervously, quickly thinking of a way to diffuse the situation.

"Evidently," Loki spoke, his voice full to the brim with amusement. "my dear brother forgot the second part of the myth." Snakes of unease ran up and down Locke's nerves.

"Oh?" she tried to sound calm, unaffected. "What might that be?"

She could almost feel Loki grinning as he answered her.

"The part where the Fenris wolf escapes the bonds of Gleipnir and slays Odin himself."

Locke froze, hair standing on end, and took up the blood-filled syringe in hand. The needle was sharp and long, but would hardly serve as a proper weapon if Loki escaped. He would slay her where she stood. She rethought that course of action and instead applied a drop of the blood to a slide and clipped it to the microscope's viewing platform.

_'Ignore him,' _her mind screamed at her. _'He'll only destroy your already delicate nerves.'_

That seemed to be the best course of action. Locked attempted to relax her shoulders, readying herself for more words to leave the Trickster's lips. But nothing came, and that was almost as unnerving. He seemed content to merely watch her. She could almost feel that chilling, unblinking stare on her back as she worked, but so long as he did not speak to her she would not go near him to put the mask back on.

_'Ignore him. He isn't here,'_ she reminded herself.

Time wore on, and as she observed the blood on the slide, it seemed her tactic was working. Fifteen minutes passed, and her breathing evened out. Thirty more, and she no longer felt the urge to scream. By the time forty-five minutes had passed, she had nearly forgotten his presence, until something within the microscope's viewing field shifted.

The cells still lived, even this long after extraction. That in itself was bizarre, but she had to remind herself that he wasn't even human. But the virus' normal behavior meant the blood cells began to vibrate, which caused the body's overheating. It was a weird thing, nothing like any human virus she'd ever seen. The cells did as she expected, but abruptly stopped, instead beginning to discolor, the red hemoglobin becoming a sickly blue. She watched, both fixated and horrified, as some cells began to clump together as in coagulation. Behind her, Loki made a noise of what sounded like pain as the events occurred. Alarmed, Locked looked to him. His skin was broken out in a full sweat, the fluid mingling with blood from his pores. He was shaking visibly now. She took one more look at the slide. The cells were now all clumped together, and looked to be rapidly thickening. She removed the slide and touched a gloved finger to the surface, only to find that it had hardened. More blood would need to be tested. She moved to the syringe, but the liquid within was in the same state. And now Loki was screaming in pain. The sound was unearthly, and completely unexpected.

"My god," Locke whispered. "it's changing."

Seeing no other options, she reached for a vial on the worktable. She filled an empty syringe with the solution and lunged for Loki, stabbing it into the cold flesh of his neck.

Loki instantly stopped moving. His breath was ragged and raspy, his skin still sweating, but he no longer shook. Instead, he fixed his steely gaze on her, and in the next moment, he was on top of her.

Her head crashed into the edge of the table, jolting the surface and smashing the slide as she crumpled to the floor in pain. She knew not how he had broken the so-called unbreakable chains. She didn't particularly care, either, all thoughts except for those of the dying variety driven from her mind. Black crept into the edges of her vision as Loki's hands closed around her windpipe. He was going to strangle her to death.

The agent by the door sprang into action immediately to get Loki off, but a single movement of the god's arm sent him flying through the plate glass windows. The grip on her throat tightened, and the black crept in more. For some strange reason, "So Long and Thanks for all the Fish" began playing in her head, and that was enough to bring her back to focus. There was another needle, one within the pocket of her lab coat, which held a nasty surprise for the god of lies. Flailing around, she managed to get her hand into the pocket and curl her fingers around the glass cylinder. Before she could withdraw her hand, though, Loki seized her wrist and jerked her arm upwards, sending the syringe skittering across the floor.

"I praise you for your effort," he commended her. "But I condemn you for your foolishness. You should not have touched me, mortal. Perhaps your lifespan would have carried out as normal if you hadn't."

Then, before Locke could breathe her last and thus, before the song in her head reached the refrain, Loki stilled above her, pupils going wide before his eyelids sagged a bit. He slumped, and his form rolled off of her. Locke sucked in a huge gulp of air, tears rolling down her cheeks. From the side of Loki's neck protruded another needle. The agent stood above her, having hurriedly administered the fallen syringe's contents. He dragged her to her feet, standing silently and stoically by her side as he nursed his ribs. Loki lay still on the floor, eyelids sagging but otherwise aware. Locke leaned over him and licked her lips. Her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

"My little agent friend wasn't here to keep me safe from you," she wheezed. "He was here to keep me from _doing _anything to you."

* * *

Once they were sure that Loki couldn't move (for sure this time), Locke and the agent took some time to recover before the agent made a quick call on his phone. Moving his lips rapidly and speaking lowly, Locke couldn't make out a single word of his speech. Standing by and looking from the fallen god to the agent, Locke noted with some shame that she didn't even know the agent's name. He'd shadowed her for five years, and she had never heard even a word from his mouth. She hadn't been told anything about him, just that if she tried to leave or her ankle monitor set off any alarms, he would be there to correct her course. She was fully convinced that he was under orders to act like one of those Buckingham Palace guards, a silent flesh statue.

By the time Locke's breathing returned to normal, the Avengers were gathered in the lab. Loki had stopped shaking and sweating, but the paralytic that had been administered still prevented his movement.

"Whoa, what'd you do, Mellow Yellow?"

The woman looked from Loki to Stark, who let loose a whistle at the stiff and prone god on the floor.

"Elephant tranquilizer," she answered stoically. It was a lie. The concoction didn't have a name, and until five minutes ago, the agent hadn't even known she'd had it. He had simply acted on impulse to inject it.

"Whoa, serious?"

"Never leave home without it."

"Would you mind telling us why Agent Blake called us here?" Fury interrupted her. She stared at the agent, confused. Agent Blake? So that was his name? Locke wrung her hands and winced at the soreness of her throat. Already the skin was bruising, leaving long dark finger-shaped marks.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," she said, wiping her sweaty palms on her lab coat. "The good news is that I procured a quality sample of blood from our uh...frozen friend there. It matches the samples procured by other researchers. It's definitely the same virus."

"So what's the bad news?" Fury asked.

"The virus is...it's changing." Katherine's voice was small, as if she was embarrassed to deliver that bit of information.

"What?" Fury moved towards the examination table to see the slide under the microscope. Locke quickly moved to block it from him.

"Sir, it's...it kind of got smashed."

Fury stopped, fixing his one good eye on her.

"Explain."

"As I was examining the samples and drawing comparisons, the virus began to change the structure of the blood."

"How so?"

"The cells began to vibrate, which is the cause of the body's overheating."

"That's not news to us, Locke. I want to know why you called us all here."

Katherine moved to the other end of the worktable, where a plastic jar held the remnants of Loki's blood sample, the syringe sitting needle-point down. She gripped it gingerly and held it up for all to see.

"What is that?" Clint asked, eyes narrowing at the cylinder. His hair, along with Natasha's, was wet. Locke refrained form calling him on his crappy bluff from earlier.

"The cells decided they wanted to go all Smurf on me, and then they started to coagulate. The coagulation continued from there and the virus...well, for lack of a better term, it caused the blood to solidify."

"What does that mean symptom-wise?" Natasha asked.

"Essentially..." Locke trailed off.

"Petrification of the blood?" Tony offered, amused at her choice of metaphors.

"Uh, yes. That," Locke muttered. "Loki began to show signs of extreme pain and the beginnings of shock."

"Brother?" Thor stepped towards his fallen kin, crouching to check on him. "Is he alright?"

"He's tied up, his lips are shredded from the thread, and he's infected by a mortal disease. But hey, I'm sure he's had worse days," Tony quipped.

"I injected him with an anticoagulant," Locke stepped between the two. "It seems to have worked, but he didn't like it too much and decided to attack me. The guy's worse than a twitchy two year old. Oh, and there's more. The injection site isn't healing."

"Isn't that normal?" Steve asked.

"It is for pathetic mortals such as ourselves," Locke answered.

"What?"

"A human's injection site would take a bit of time to heal, but not a God's. At least, as far as all the movies and books say. Not only is the virus causing the body to overheat and the blood to solidify, and blood to leak from the pores, but it seems to slow down the body's immune system too. It's like HIV and Ebola got drunk and had a regrettable night together."

"This is much worse than we could have imagined. If this is widespread, the results could be catastrophic," Natasha breathed. "We're talking full out panic in the streets, even more so than what we've seen so far. The situation will only get worse."

"Apocalypse-level worse," Locke agreed. "And not just for humans."

She locked gazes with Loki, who finally understood what she was implying. Fury understood too, and the others followed soon after.

"Alright. What is it we need?" Fury asked.

"We need Banner. This is way outside of my expertise."

Fury nodded. "We'll call him in. anything else?"

"Yes, sir," Locke answered. "I think I could use a good, stiff drink. And maybe an ice pack."


End file.
